


Tunguska ... Missing Scenes

by glacis



Category: X Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What really happened during that raid? and at Crystal City? And in the car to NY? and on the plane to Russia? and in the back of that truck? and in that Siberian cell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tunguska ... Missing Scenes

Tunguska ... Missing Scenes

** Before the Raid. ** 

He knew it was risky. What the fuck in his life, such as it was, wasn't a risk anymore? But if he could be said to trust anyone, it would be Mulder. His ex-partner. His enemy.

His ally.

Sent him the receipts. Gave him all the pointers he needed. He had a slight twinge at the fact that he was, of necessity, selling out Dave and Matt and Phillip and the rest of the men who had saved his life. Been such excellent tools. But weighed his own needs and his handlers' agenda, that small betrayal was not enough to stop him. And measured against the hope, however faint, that Mulder would help him finally bring down that son of a bitch who had supposedly been his boss, the set-up was no betrayal at all.

Jerry had looked at him, in that one moment before he pulled the trigger. Disbelief, clear in his eyes, for a heartbeat before the bullet went into his forehead. At that range he couldn't miss. And Jerry had known it. But he'd had to do it. They were getting away. He had to stop the truck. He hadn't gone through hell to set this up and get back to Mulder only to have a half-baked revolutionary fundie fuck it all up. So long, Jerry. Been fun. Bang.

Pain. Mulder's eyes, huge in a pale face under a combat helmet, that beautiful mouth a thin line of disbelief before drawing into a sneer of pure unadulterated hatred. Staring up the barrel of a high powered rifle and talking his way out of his own death. Mulder really got off on punching him like that. Pulling him to his feet, slapping him around, knocking his hat off. And Little Miss Scully sitting there so tight assed and proper, letting him get away with it. Just ... watching. He wondered if she liked to watch. Looked like it.

Damn. He'd forgotten just how damned beautiful he was.

'Help me get him. For your father. For her sister.'

'For my life.'

** In Crystal City ** 

What the hell was it with these guys? Mulder pulling him around like he was a life sized Raggedy Andy, then Skinner, looking like a fucking tank, punching him *right* where Mulder had, calling him boy, telling him they weren't finished. Sheesus. He didn't think he'd ever get his breath back!

Punched like a goddamned tank, too.

Then left him out on the balcony! On the fucking *balcony*! He didn't survive that damned silo to freeze his nuts off on the fucking balcony.

Could use a blanket.

One wind-roughened hand clenched the collar of his jacket closer around his throat, and Alex Krycek did his best to ignore the cold air running up through the iron railings pressing into his back. He hated the cold. Always had, ever since he was a child in his home land, and it had only been exascerbated by his imprisonment in that goddamned silo. His jaw ached from clenching it to keep his teeth from chattering. His feet were numb. His back hurt. And he wasn't sure if he had taken the only chance he was likely to get to ever take his life back, or finally made the mistake that would end it all for good.

A rustle of the blinds and the soft snick of the lock in the sliding glass door jerked him from the almost-doze he had dropped into. As he watched, the bulky shadow defined itself into his former supervisor. Skinner stepped lightly out onto the balcony, moving silently over to his captive and stopping to stare down at him.

"If you came to gloat," Krycek forced out through gritted teeth, "I hope you brought a blanket. It's fucking freezing out here."

The ex-Marine tilted his head, as if testing the air with his nose. "No, not nearly. Must be at least 45." He crouched down, one hand reaching out to rattle the handcuff chain, checking the fit.

"Making sure the leash is tight enough?" Krycek couldn't keep the sarcastic tone from his voice. As Skinner's other hand descended ruthlessly to circle his throat, cutting off further words and craning his head back at an uncomfortable angle just short of pain, he wished he could learn to control his tongue better.

"When I put you on a leash, boy, you'll know it." The growling menace in the words sent a shiver down his back that had nothing to do with the cold air. "I don't know why Mulder wants you alive. I don't even particularly care. If you have information you'll give it to us, one way or another."

Krycek's eyes widened as the older man knelt in front of him, shoving his legs apart roughly with his thighs, leaning forward until he could taste Skinner's breath on his lips. "I don't trust you, Krycek. You're a double crossing, lying, murdering piece of shit."

The hand holding the cuff chain slid freely over the captive wrist, down the length of extended right arm, along the bunched shoulder muscle to curve along the right side of Krycek's face.

"But I will tell you this. Whatever Mulder's motives are, he's going to be listening to you, going to be acting on things you tell him."

Both hands tightened fractionally, and Krycek suddenly found it hard to breath. His left hand came up to tug at the strong hands holding his throat, but he couldn't budge the hold. With a quick movement, Skinner's hands shifted, the thumbs meeting under the point of his chin, forcing his face up.

"Double cross him again, boy, and you will wish you had never been born."

A hard mouth descended, full on his own, forcing his lips apart. There was no gentleness in the kiss, if it could be called that, just sheer dominance and power. His teeth parted, making way for the tongue raping his mouth, and he choked on the forceful entry. Dimly he was aware of a sharp pain as Skinner bit him, cutting into the soft flesh of his inner lower lip, then the intruder retreated, and the hold on his throat slackened. He drew in lungsful of cold night air, nearly sobbing in the effort to get his breath back, and stared silently at Skinner. Obsidian eyes glared back at him, anger and determination fighting with fiery lust. A broad palmed hand swept down his chest and curled hurtfully, tightly around his balls.

"Betray him again, Krycek, and your ass is mine."

He managed a weak nod, which seemed to satisfy the AD. The grip was relaxed and Skinner stood abruptly. Krycek watched, swallowing dryly, as the glass door closed behind the other man. Skinner stopped once, looked over his shoulder, the dark menace of him imprinting itself on Krycek's mind. He couldn't hold the stare, and, licking the blood from his lip, he took a deep breath and stared through the bars at the street lights seventeen floors below. Now he knew where he stood. He'd had no idea Skinner felt like that about Mulder. If he had, he never would have come back. Mulder he could handle, eventually, with care. Skinner? No way in hell.

He settled back against the bars and closed his eyes, trying for some rest. It was going to be a long, cold night.

** In the Car on the Way to New York City ** 

It had been a silent, tense drive. Looking at the clock set in the dash, Krycek sighed. Again. Almost eleven o'clock and still nearly an hour to go before they got ... wherever the hell they were going. Mulder hadn't been exactly forthcoming. Secure in the shadows of the dimly lit cabin, he let his eyes drift over the weary figure sprawled in the driver's seat. Mulder's eyes were squinting from fatigue, his generous mouth set in a grim line as he stared at the black pavement stretching out in front of the car.

Deep green eyes raked him slowly from the fringe falling across his forehead, down the strong profile to the broad chest, long fingers resting tiredly on the wheel, clenching and relaxing to a rhythm only he could hear. The gaze swept lazily southward, over the lean torso to the strong thighs, splayed slightly, and came to rest on the curve at the juncture of those thighs. Unconsciously, Krycek's tongue crept out to moisten his dry lips. Mulder had no idea just how appealing he was, never had known. As he stared, resting the back of his head against the door window, his mind began to drift.

Early days, when he then-partner had not yet learned the extent of his betrayal, when they were actually beginning to gel as a team. Not for long, not nearly long enough, but for a tantalizingly brief time, they had seemed to be in synch. Mulder had started to relax, call him Alex, rely on him a little. Smile at him. Once in awhile, casually reach out with those long, elegant hands, and touch him on the shoulder, on the arm, on the back. He'd been playing with fire, he knew that, but he'd dreamed. They couldn't take that away, because they hadn't known about it. Just moments. Sounds, the faint scent that was uniquely Mulder, the sight of him in his swim trunks, the way his mouth pursed when he was thinking, his studious look in those glasses of his. His thoughts betrayed him, and he shifted to make his growing erection less constricted in his jeans.

Mulder glanced at his silent passenger. The double agent hadn't said anything since he'd initially asked where they were going and Mulder had told him he'd know when they got there. Maybe. Krycek appeared to have drifted into some sort of stupor. Probably just as well. At least then he kept his mouth shut.

His mind worried at the problem confronting them. What the hell *was* that rock? Was it just space junk, like Scully seemed to think? Or was Krycek actually playing straight with them for once in his life, actually telling the truth? Or at least as much of the truth as they could drag out of him. His mind flashed to the feeling of Krycek doubling over his fist, falling past his body, and the fierce triumph he had felt at hitting him, the pleasure he'd gotten from hurting the man responsible for hurting him so badly. He hated Krycek for so many things ... Scully's abduction, his father's death ... the betrayal of his hard-given trust and seldom- extended friendship. He sighed, unconsciously, and pursed his lips. He didn't like the fact that he could enjoy hurting someone, even someone like that rat bastard, so damned much. Pushing the troubling thought away, he focused his tired mind on the task ahead. Time enough for Krycek. Later. When the urgency was gone, and he was alert enough to sort out his tangled emotions.

The thought brought him up short. Tangled? Emotions? About Krycek? Another flash, this one a moment after Scully's disappearance. Krycek, handing him a cup of coffee, staring at him with worried, dark eyes. Alex again, handing him a towel, staring a fraction too long at his body as he briefed him. A touch of desire, quickly masked, and an instinctive response of his own. Oh. Shit. He did *not* want to go there. He risked a quick glance at Krycek. A glint showed him that he wasn't asleep, as he'd thought. He was staring. At him. He bit his lower lip and forced his wandering thoughts firmly to the back of his mind. No way in hell was he going to think about Alex Krycek and sex. Not now. Hopefully not ever. He glared at the road in front of him and set his jaw.

The sooner this was over, the better. Before he lost what was left of his mind.

** On the Plane to Russia ** 

He'd had to take the cuffs off at the airport, when he realized that Krycek was his best shot at an interpreter. They'd had a dicey few moments getting through customs, but his SG source had come through. The extra papers she'd given him for emergencies came in handy. Not that anyone looking at them would ever believe that they were brothers, but still... Mulder's eyes began to close of their own volition, finally putting an end to the thoughts chasing themselves through his weary mind. As he felt himself finally giving in to his body's need for rest, he reached over the armrest and clasped Krycek's left wrist firmly. Slipping one end of the handcuffs over his own right wrist, he closed the other end around Krycek's undamaged left arm. The other man gave him a startled look, but Mulder ignored him and cradled the hand in his lap, firmly curving the broad palm against his leg, pushing the long fingers between his thighs under the cover of the light airline blanket.

"You so much as twitch and I'll wake up," Mulder managed to growl, then laced his fingers tightly over Krycek's wrist and allowed his eyes to close. Within moments he was sound asleep.

Krycek sat perfectly still, torn between amusement, irritation, and an arousal so strong he nearly couldn't breathe. Leave it to Mulder to find a way to keep him in his seat, keep him bound, and still give himself an early warning system if Krycek did try to get out of the cuffs. On the other hand, Mulder was a trained psychologist, and he did hate Krycek with a passion, so maybe he knew just how much he, Alex, wanted to touch him right where he was touching him, and this was his way of tormenting him for all of the crimes he held him responsible for committing.

The knot of purpose and counter purpose running through his head collided with the lust running rampant there and the resulting confusion left him unsure whether to laugh, curse, or do what he really wanted to do ... turn his hand ninety degrees and cup the cock resting so damned close to his palm. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gave up the fight to make sense of his conflicting thoughts, and quietly banged the back of his head against his headrest several times. It was going to be a fucking long flight.

Three hours into the red-eye Krycek was awakened by a gentle weight falling against his shoulder. He contained his instinctive response to twist away and carefully turned his head to see the soft fall of brown hair blending into the dark brown of his jacket. Mulder was deeply asleep, lines of fatigue running under his eyes and between his brows, pulling the corners of his mouth down. Krycek fought the sudden, intense urge to devour that relaxed mouth, and realized at the same time that his fingers had relaxed during his own nap. His hand had slipped backward slightly and was angled into Mulder's left thigh, cuddled up against Mulder's crotch, curving around his testicles, lightly brushing the length of his cock. He took a deep breath, and smiled grimly. Talk about heaven and hell. If Mulder woke up now he'd probably forget where they were and beat the shit out of him. Or want to, at least. And if he didn't ... he would sit here. For hours. And grope Mulder.

He'd had worse flights.

Four and a half hours into the flight Mulder woke with a jerk. He sucked in a deep breath, savoring an unexpected musky scent, and opened his eyes slowly to find that sometime during his nap he had slumped sideways, coming to rest against Krycek's chest, his face wedged into the curve where Krycek's shoulder met his neck. He smelled good. Sleepily, he shifted, and the hand cradling his cock shifted with him, sending a bolt of arousal through his system and waking him up abruptly and completely. That rat's ass son of a-- He looked closer.

Krycek was out like a light.

Sound asleep and feeling him up. Christ. The man had the instincts of an octopus. Grimacing slightly at the crick in his neck, unwilling to admit even to himself just how nice a pillow Krycek had made, he carefully slid his hand between his erection and Krycek's fingers. The contact made him draw in his breath sharply, and caused the other man to wriggle and murmur a soft protest. Twining his fingers around his prisoner's, Mulder pulled the wandering hand firmly away from his crotch and settled more deeply into his own seat.

It was going to be a fucking long flight.

** In the Back of a Truck on a Siberian Road En Route to Tunguska** 

So far, it had gone okay. Krycek managed to find them a ride, dickering with the driver like a native. Now, they just had to wait. And hope the jouncing over the uneven road wouldn't break their necks. Or their kidneys. Not that they'd need to worry about it, really, because at this rate they'd freeze their asses off before they got anywhere near Tunguska. And they still had a hell of a long ride ahead of them.

Mulder forced his thoughts away from the depressing turn they were taking. His own self doubts were coming out with a vengeance. What the hell had he been thinking? Here he was, in Russia, heading toward God knew what, with forged documents, to confront who only knew what sort of a situation, with only Alex Krycek to rely on as his translator and back up. Alex Krycek, for god's sake. There were times when he seriously wondered about himself. And now they were in the back of a rattling old truck with one burlap sack between them and the wind whistling through the canvas and he was freezing his ass off and he didn't know what the hell he was heading into... He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his fingertips over the bridge of his nose, hard. He had to be here. Had to find out what was so damned important. Had to expose the truth ... or at least those parts of the truth that were his to find. It was the only thing to do. The only thing he could do.

His unwilling companion looked at him with some concern. Ever since they'd debarked from the plane, Mulder had had that strained look around his mouth, the one that said he knew he was doing some damned fool thing but he was going to do it anyway, and anyone who would stop him better get out of the way. Unfortunately, that normally white line around his lips had a distinct blue tinge. Coming to a decision, he grabbed the burlap sack covering their feet and pushed himself to his knees.

"Here," he offered, tossing the sack over Mulder's legs and abdomen. "You're freezing."

Mulder caught the end of the sack and stared at him suspiciously. "What about you?"

"Share." He deftly inserted himself under the sack with Mulder, slipping an arm around his waist when the other man made a move to create more distance between them. "Damn it, Mulder, get back here. I've spent too fucking long recently freezing my balls off. I'm *sick* of being cold. We've got a ways ahead of us and I am *not* going to freeze the whole way there."

Mulder stared at him for a long moment, much like a mouse stares at a snake, then he relaxed. "Yeah. I'm not too wild about hypothermia, either."

Neither man spoke for several minutes. They gradually warmed one another, cold hands curved around warm waists, thighs touching, carefully not meeting one another's eyes. The road grew rougher as they left the paved road and started down the dirt and gravel track that led into the forest. A particularly rough bump jolted them forward, and Mulder found himself tangled up with Krycek, his knee thrust between the younger man's thighs, chest to chest, with Krycek's face buried in his throat. As the jostling truck bed settled, they lay frozen, each very aware of the hard warmth pressing between their groins. As the rhythmic sway of the truck moved them, their erections pressed together, and identical moans were ripped from their chests.

This was *not* the way they had planned to keep warm.

Without conscious permission, hands began to move. Mulder pulled himself slightly away, and stared into eyes as dazed as his own felt. Keeping those eyes locked with his, he struggled with the clasp on Krycek's jeans, brushing his fingers repeatedly over the hard bulk of the erection beneath as he did so. Krycek's eyes widened, the pupil expanding until all the color he could see was a ring of pure green around a pool of black.

Then, abruptly, the solid body was wiggling, turning, maneuvering them both until they were lying on their sides, and Mulder's hips were even with Krycek's mouth, as Krycek's were to Mulder's. Strong hands worked almost frantically at buttons and zippers, bared flesh drawing up in goosebumps as the cold air whisked over buttocks and thighs. Mulder instinctively drew his upper knee at an angle, allowing Krycek greater access, as the other man's hot breath played over his straining cock. A tongue lapped at the moisture already gathering at the tip, and he shuddered.

Licking his lips to spread some of the saliva gathered in his mouth, he wrestled the cotton briefs away from Krycek's strong thighs and freed the erection imprisoned there. A small, rational part of his mind was screaming obscenities at him, but the overriding hunger that was the rest of his body ignored it, concentrating on the crisp hair, smooth skin and hot velvet over steel under his hands and mouth.

His first taste of Mulder was everything Krycek feared it would be. Addictive. Tangy and slick and right and addictive. He slid one hand gently behind the heavy sac and drew it away from the heated skin of the perineum, drawing a fingertip across the tender skin, revelling in the shudder that wracked Mulder's body and the tightening on his own cock. Then Mulder slipped his mouth over Krycek's glans, and he gave an answering shudder. The hand that had been teasing Mulder's sac slid further up, sliding through the moist heat between his ass cheeks, teasing the tight hole, dipping inside, flickering along the thin skin. Mulder growled deep in his throat and pushed closer, taking Krycek's cock as far into his throat as he could, sucking strongly. One hand forced its way down between their bodies, cupping Krycek's head, working him into a rhythm, fucking his mouth fiercely.

They were so close, chest to chest, head to thigh, skin sliding and rubbing, the fine hair on Krycek's chest tormenting Mulder's nipples, legs curled around one another. Their hands met, clutched, and they lay wound around one another, Mulder's left hand clasped in Krycek's right, his right hand circling the base of Krycek's penis as he sucked the head, Krycek's left hand rolling Mulder's balls inside his sac as he swallowed the other man's cock as deeply into his throat as he could reach. The intensity of the encounter set both mens nerve endings on fire, and climax, when it hit, was explosive.

Krycek came first, pushing strongly into Mulder's mouth, and Mulder let go of his shaft to curve his hand around the younger man's ass, pulling him close, the taste and force and unexpected elation of it pushing him into his own orgasm. Krycek clamped his lips as firmly as he could around the cock pumping into him, holding on to the best of his ability considering the force of his own climax still rocking him. As the thrashing body beside him finally calmed, he petted and stroked the wet flesh under his fingers. Mulder's hand, fingers cramped from their hard clasp, shook itself free from his, and Krycek reluctantly drew back from the warm haven of Mulder's groin.

Avoiding the eyes of his ... what, enemy? Lover? Co-conspirator? Reluctant ally? He didn't know quite what to call him anymore. Krycek pulled his jeans up quickly, stuffing his replete cock back where it belonged, pulling himself to the opposite side of the truck. Across from him, he could hear Mulder doing the same. A shift, a soft thump, and two booted feet came to rest beside his left thigh.

Silence. So, Mulder didn't want to talk, either. Krycek licked the last few drops of semen from his lips and stared out the back of the truck at the Siberian forest. Fine. If it didn't happen, it didn't happen. If it did ... he'd find out what he had to pay for it soon enough.

** In a Siberian Cell ** 

It had all gone to hell so fast they hadn't known what had hit them.

Separate captures. Whips. Horses. Horses, for godssake. What the hell was this? Doctor fucking Zhivago? Gulags and experiments and Russian prisoners who gave cryptic warnings ... in English.

He was living a nightmare.

Mulder came alert with a start when the door flew open and Krycek was thrust inside. The other man looked panicked, nearly ill, sweating and wild eyed as he talked of torture and needing to escape. Then, he cornered him, demanded to know what he had told their captors, what story he had given them, if he had betrayed them. An arm to his throat, blazing eyes staring into his own, that tensed body under his.

"Don't touch me again."

A command. A reminder. A contest of wills that he found he couldn't win. Krycek arched his back, thrusting his chest out, daring him to manhandle him. Daring him to ... touch him again.

Mulder looked at him, sizing up the force behind the glare. Seeing the taunt behind the harsh words. Reading the arousal under the fire. He took a gasping breath and retreated to his own corner of the cell.

Torture? It was here, now, in this stone room with him. Under his own skin, racing with his own heart, crawling along his own limbs, making the tiny hair on his neck stand up. God damn him. He wanted Alex Krycek. Hated him, distrusted him, needed him, and wanted him.

Krycek saw the confusion and defiance etched in Mulder's features, and settled into his own corner to watch him. Was this where he paid for the stolen pleasure he'd grabbed with both hands in that truck? Was this when it started to really hurt? Or would Mulder make him wait for it, draw it out, really turn the knife in his gut? Knowing the way Mulder's mind worked, it would undoubtedly be prolonged. He was a master mind-fucker, and he knew every trick in the book for making his victims twist. Krycek's eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down at the corners. The real killer was that Mulder didn't even know he was doing it most of the time. And if he ever found out he had that kind of power over him, Krycek was dead. He'd have no defenses left against the man.

Not this time. Krycek lifted his head and glared at Mulder, folding his arms over his chest and daring him to do something, anything. He'd had enough. He'd been slugged and cuffed and frozen and dragged over half the world and had his mind blown by a man who wouldn't even admit he'd done it, much less kiss him afterward. And he'd had enough. If *anyone* was going to get them out of this it was going to be him. And Mulder damned well better accept it and treat him like a human instead of something he scraped off the bottom of his boot, or damned if he wouldn't *leave* the nasty tempered son of a bitch here.

Mulder stared back at Krycek, wondering what was going through his devious mind to cause such a dark frown on his face. He looked like he wanted to kill something, or someone, and he was glaring directly at him. He swallowed. The one reaction he really hadn't expected to get from Krycek staring murderously at him was another erection. Shit. He was stuck in a gulag cell in the middle of the Siberian forest and ... and he wanted to fuck Alex Krycek. The irony, or perhaps the insanity of it, overcame him and he began to snicker. The snicker grew, and he fought it, not wanting a full blown case of hysteria on his hands.

Krycek started at the odd sound of Mulder chuckling unrestrainedly, and the glare softened into a worried stare. As the chuckling grew into full laughter, he levered himself away from the wall and came over to check on his companion. Mulder had wrapped his hands around his ribs and was holding himself tightly, as if he was afraid he'd fly apart if he let go. Krycek bent awkwardly over the shaking form and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Mulder? What the hell is wrong with you?" He gripped the trembling shoulder hard, trying to get his attention. The hazel eyes, brimming with unshed tears, finally met his, and the other man shrugged.

"This." Long arms reached up and wrapped themselves forcefully around Krycek's back, pulling him off balance and sending him to the floor on top of Mulder.

"I told you not to touch me aga-"

The protest was stifled by Mulder's mouth closing over his. Pure shock kept him immobilized long enough for Mulder to hook a leg behind his knees and roll them over, coming to rest with Mulder pinning Krycek to the floor, pressing their hips together, with the agent's hands sliding down Krycek's arms to twine their fingers together, effectively stopping any protesting movement the younger man might have made. Not that he would have, by that point. Mulder's heat felt too good in the damp chill of the cell, and if this was the punishment Mulder would mete out to him for the way he'd jumped him earlier ... he'd take his punishment with all the enthusiasm he could muster.

They ignited one another. Neither would give ground to the other, and their sex was more a battle than a sharing of bodies, with each man fighting for control in turn. Krycek's thin tee shirt ended up against the far wall, while Mulder's sweater and undershirt followed close behind. Krycek fastened teeth and tongue on the soft down around Mulder's nipple, and Mulder nipped and lapped at the tender skin at the base of Krycek's throat.

Boots and jeans followed the shirts, until naked flesh pressed against naked flesh, and the electricity between them welded them together in a mix of sweat and musk and clenching legs and grasping hands. When the tangle of limbs had sorted itself out, with low growls and harsh groans on both sides, Krycek had Mulder on his back in the corner of the cell, his knees spread wide, hands clutching at slick shoulders, head thrown back. Krycek knelt between the splayed thighs, resting Mulder's ass against his own groin, supporting the small of his back with one hand while the other made its way into the cleft of Mulder's ass, gathering sweat along the way, gentling the thrashing hips. He worked one finger into the tight hole, loosening the clamped muscle, wringing a long, low moan from Mulder's tight throat. Feeling the entrance begin to relax, he twisted a second finger in to join the first, looking up to meet hazel fire as Mulder stared at him, panting, small whimpers escaping with each thrust of Krycek's fingers.

"Tell me." Mean, probably, to demand that Mulder admit what he wanted. But this was not going to be rape, and he'd be damned if he'd let his ... lover? ... get away with pretending after ward that this hadn't happened. "Tell me what you want, Mulder."

Obstinate mouth. He had such an obstinate mouth. Krycek leaned down and sucked at the lower lip thrust out at him, then drew back as Mulder opened his mouth and flicked Krycek's lip with his tongue. Mulder made a frustrated noise, but Krycek wasn't giving in. "Tell me, damn you. Tell me what you want or so help me I'll stop right now." He twisted the fingers once more for emphasis, raking the tips across Mulder's prostate, giving him a taste of what he was chancing letting go. Mulder arched in response, his already hard cock pulsing in reaction to the caress.

"Fuck me, damn it." The hoarse whisper was hard to hear, and Krycek leaned closer, repeating the tormenting caress.

"What? I didn't hear you, Mulder."

"Fuck me! God damn you, Alex, fuck me! Now!!"

There was no denying that demand, especially given the near scream the raspy voice had managed. Krycek slipped his fingers from Mulder's body, ignoring the keening whimper of disappointment, and slicked pre-ejaculate from Mulder's cock as well as his own along his swollen shaft. Wasting no further time he shrugged Mulder's knees into the hollows of his shoulders and positioned himself for a smooth thrust through the tight muscle and into the hot passage behind it. Mulder gasped at the sudden pain, and Krycek paused, rocking himself into the other man's body slowly, trying to hold back and allow time for Mulder to adjust to the intrusion.

Finally, with his teeth clenched so hard they felt about to shatter and his back so tense with holding himself in check he was nearly rigid, he was all the way in. Mulder took a deep, ragged breath, and the pain transmuted into mind destroying pleasure as Krycek began to move, angling his entry to press against his gland with each stroke. Mulder's erection, which had faded at the initial pain of penetration, resurged with a vengeance, and he thrust up to meet Krycek's downstrokes, his hands falling back to the other man's hips, pulling him in savagely, pressing hard enough to leave bruises. Krycek thrust one hand into the thick hair at the back of Mulder's skull, pulling him back so that he could look his fill, his other hand closing around Mulder's straining cock with expert precision, timing his milking fist with the pumping of his own cock in Mulder's ass. The dual stimulation drove both men quickly beyond reason. Krycek hung on with grim determination until he felt Mulder's cock pulse under his fingers, then thrust all the way in, allowing the rippling muscles clenching his cock to milk his own orgasm from him. With a smothered scream, he arched his back and came hard, finally collapsing onto Mulder's chest, blindly seeking his mouth.

Mulder's legs fell to either side of his hips, and he turned the older man's face to his, lips opening over that delicious mouth in a hard, deep kiss. Possession. His. And Mulder's.

He wondered how Mulder would like St. Petersburg.

end


End file.
